The Crimson Campaign by Brian McClellan
On the parapet, Taniel padded quietly toward Kresimir’s tower. He could make out other guards on the opposite walls of the keep, all of them looking down toward the source of the scream. None of them seemed to have noticed him.
He reached the tower and swore. No door on this level. He looked up. Another fifty feet of climbing, in full view of the guards on the parapet. Wait. A window, not fifteen feet above him.
Taniel threw himself up the stone wall, climbing as quickly as he dared, and in only a few moments he was through the window.
He found himself in the spiral staircase of the tower. He glanced back the way he’d come and had to stop to blink away a dizzy spell.
It was a long way to fall.
Taniel climbed the tower stairs until the stairs ended in a thick iron-bound door. He paused there and wondered what kind of a ward a god would put on his bedroom. He looked down and was grateful that his hands were not shaking. No sound of footsteps below him. No breathing from inside the room. Kresimir must be out.
Taniel pressed gently on the door. It opened with a single long creak that made him cringe.
He paused at the sight of the room.
Taniel had expected something like he’d seen in Kresimir’s palace on South Pike: a fine bed with expensive silk and lush carpeting and wall hangings, preserved against nature and time. But this… this was not the opulent quarters of a god.
The rug was nothing more than a soiled sheet. The curtains – perhaps once fine – were now torn and bedraggled. There was a full body mirror, shattered. A four-poster bed lay slanted against one wall, two of the posts destroyed.
Was this really Kresimir’s room? It showed signs of habitation. There was a table by one window, set with a meal. Taniel crossed to that and glanced out. He was just above the Addown. On the table was a tankard, half full of beer. A mouse, unafraid of Taniel, nibbled on the bread.
This had to be a mistake. Taniel had seen Kresimir’s palace. He’d seen Kresimir’s city. The god who created those things would not live in a tower like this.
What could he do? Goutlit must have lied to him. Taniel gritted his teeth. He’d climb back down and go skin that worm. Half the night, wasted, just because…
His eyes fell on the bed. The sheets were covered in blood; spattered rust-colored stains.
Taniel opened his third eye.
He dropped to his knees, staggered by the kaleidoscope of colors within the Else. Thousands of pastels swirled and moved, as if sorcery itself was born in this room. Taniel had to breathe deeply, suppressing the urge to vomit. The whole mountainside of South Pike hadn’t looked like this after months of Kez Privileged slinging their strongest sorcery at Shouldercrown Fortress.
Taniel forced his third eye to close and slowly got back to his feet. He drew his dagger and staggered to the bed.
He grabbed the sheet and tore it off the bed. One or two long strips would do it. He could wrap them around his waist, beneath his jacket, and be out the window in less than a minute.
Taniel stopped. He’d heard something. Just the wind, or…
Footsteps on the stairs.
He finished his cuts and grabbed a handful of bloody linens. He made a dash for the window.
The door opened.
A Prielight Guard stood in the door, a platter with fresh bread and cheese and a bottle of wine. He stopped, mouth open in surprise, at the sight of Taniel.
The silence was broken as the guard threw the platter to the floor and drew his sword, running forward with a shout.
CHAPTER
39
Tamas wasn’t sure which bothered him more: the look of sudden fear in Hailona’s eyes, or what she said immediately afterward.
“It’s true. Adro has invaded Deliv!” The words came out as a gasp. Hailona put one hand to her mouth. “You’re here, so it must be true.” She rocked back in her seat, and for a moment Tamas thought she might fall.
He rushed to her side and tried to take her hand, but she pulled back as if it were a serpent.
“Get back,” she said breathlessly.
“It’s not true,” he said. “None of that.”
“How can I be sure? Where is Sabon?”
The question Tamas dreaded the most. He evaded it. “Look at me. Am I in uniform? Have you seen me in public since this army took Alvation? They’re not my men!”
Hailona stared at him as if in shock.
Tamas went on. “Do you think I’d be stupid enough to attack Deliv? To risk them joining the war when Kez has sacked Budwiel and threatens the very heart of Adro? No, Hailona, this is a plot by the Kez to turn our nations against each other.”
Hailona visibly steeled herself. She stood, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. Some of her old regality returned then and she seemed younger.
“Explain yourself,” she said. Her gaze was hard, accusing.
Tamas felt himself flinch. Fifteen years since they’d last spoken. How could he convince her?
“I have two brigades of men camped a day outside the city. We were trapped in Kez after the battle of Budwiel. My men are bloodied, tired, and starving. We came north for succor in Alvation. Imagine my surprise to see soldiers in Adran blue holding the city.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Prove it? Those soldiers out there – I’d bet half of them only speak Kez. The ones who speak Adran do it with an accent thicker than my Deliv. I don’t know what’s happening here any more than you do, but I have my suspicions.”
“You’ll have to do better than ‘suspicions,’” Hailona said. “Demasolin will be back any moment. He won’t believe you.” She said the words as if she didn’t believe him either.
“Who is he?” Tamas glanced toward the door Demasolin had taken to chase Vlora.
“My brother-in-law. The duke of Vindren.”
“You remarried? I didn’t know.”
“Ten years ago. I asked Sabon not to tell you. Where is he? Demasolin will not trust him either, but a countryman is more believable than an Adran.”
Tamas pulled back. He felt like he’d been slapped in the face. She’d asked Sabon not to tell him that she’d gotten remarried? Sabon was like a brother to Tamas. At one point, he’d been close to marrying Hailona and now she glossed past it like it wasn’t any kind of issue.
He mentally checked himself. He had more important things to worry about.
He heard steps coming down the hallway. The door opened, and an older Deliv gentleman in a servant’s evening jacket stood in the doorway. He seemed startled to find Tamas there and glanced between Hailona and Tamas quickly. He tensed, as if ready to spring between them.
“It’s all right, Ruper,” Hailona said. “How is everyone?”
“Ferhulia will die before the night is over,” Ruper said. His voice had the educated politeness of a butler. “Inel might make it, but we have to move him. We can’t stay here. They’ll come for us.”
“Who?” Tamas demanded. “Who is coming for you?”
“The general in command of the…” She hesitated just a moment before saying, “Adran army. His name is Saulkin. We tried to kill him tonight but it was a trap. He saw me clearly when we retreated and he knows who I am.”
“We could have barely minutes, ma’am,” Ruper said.
The glass door to the observatory portico opened. Demasolin strode through the door. He removed black gloves and threw them to the table, only to freeze in place when he saw Tamas.
“Who is this?” His gaze cut through Tamas, his eyes narrowed. Tamas was able to see him better now. Demasolin was in his thirties, perhaps, with a clean-shaven face and strong jawline. He had the bearing of a duke, Tamas decided.
“An old… friend,” Hailona said. “Did you catch the intruder?”
Demasolin continued to stare at Tamas. “Apparently not.” His nose twitched as he sniffed. “She got away,” he said. “Leapt the garden wall like it was nothing. A powder mage. I’d bet my life on it.” Another sniff. “As is this one.”
In one quick motion Demasolin discarded his pistol and a belt of powder charges, throwing them away from Tamas. He drew his sword. “Powder mage or not, I will gut you. Remove your weapons.”
“You think you can?” Tamas asked quietly.
Tamas was tired. He’d made this entire trek north just to reach Alvation, where he thought he’d find succor, only to find the city held by the enemy and the very people that he’d looked to for help now suspicious of him.
He knew he should disarm. Let them see he wasn’t a threat. Take the time to explain himself.
But if what Ruper said was true, more soldiers would arrive any minute. Tamas would not disarm for one man with a sword.
Tamas laid a hand gently on the hilt of his sword.
Demasolin darted forward.
Tamas drew his sword and set his back foot in less time than it took to blink. Demasolin came on quickly.
“Stop! He’ll kill you!”
Demasolin slowed. Tamas relaxed, suddenly wary. Was Hailona talking to him? She knew who he was. What he was capable of.
“Demasolin,” Hailona said. “Please, wait. He’ll kill you.”
“I’ve killed powder mages before,” Demasolin said between gritted teeth. “I’ve killed a Privileged. I am the duke of Vindren!” He said it like the name would mean something to Tamas.
It did, finally. A tickle in the back of his memory. Vindren. A man with a Knack for smells. Nose like a bloodhound. Quick as a powder mage in full trance.
Tamas lowered his sword.
“You surrender?” Demasolin said.
“No.”
Demasolin took another step forward.
“I feel like this is a waste of our time,” Tamas said.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” Hailona suddenly said. “Outside in the street. Who killed all of those soldiers. I told you it was a powder mage,” she said to her brother-in-law.
“I only saw a shadow,” Demasolin said. The tip of his sword wavered.
“It was I,” Tamas said. “Do you want a demonstration?”
“I don’t take well to threats, old man.”
Tamas examined Demasolin. Muscles taut, ready to lunge. His bearing, confidence, and stance all said that he was a gifted swordsman.
A young woman suddenly burst through the door. She wore her hair up, a greatcoat over her shoulders, and Tamas could sense two pistols under the coat. “Ma’am,” she said, with only one quick glance at the two men pointing their swords at each other, “there are soldiers in the street.”
“Put your swords up!” Hailona hissed at Tamas and Demasolin. To the young woman, she said, “How many?”
“Eight, ma’am, but…”
“What is it?”
“They’re all dead, ma’am. Freshly dead.”
Hailona looked at Tamas.
Tamas shrugged. “I only killed the ones chasing you.”
There was a low knock on the glass door to the portico. Everyone looked that way. From Tamas’s position he could see Vlora. She was carrying something large. He gestured her in.
She kicked the door open and swung through, tossing a body to the observatory floor with a thump. “This might answer your questions,” she said.
“One of my captains,” Tamas said by way of introduction. “Vlora, meet Lady Hailona, former governor of Alvation.”
Vlora spared Hailona a look. “Taniel told me about her. One of your past lovers. She was pretty back then, wasn’t she?”
Hailona gasped. Tamas groaned. Demasolin spun toward Tamas.
“Field Marshal Tamas,” Demasolin roared. “On guard, you dog!”
He leapt at Tamas with startling speed. Tamas was barely able to bring the point of his sword up in time. Immediately on the retreat, he parried twice and danced backward. He could feel his leg protest in sudden agony when he twisted away from a particularly savage thrust.
Tamas was suddenly falling. He landed on his ass, crashing into a potted plant and knocking it over. He kept his sword up in a defensive position as Demasolin pressed forward.
A pistol fired, bringing Demasolin up short. Tamas stared at the tip of Demasolin’s sword, barely able to register how fast the man moved. It was like fighting a Warden, with all their speed and none of their clumsiness.
Vlora held a smoking pistol pointed at the ceiling in one hand. In the other, a loaded pistol aimed at Demasolin. Plaster drifted down from the ceiling. “Stop,” she said. “Drop the sword. I won’t miss.”
Demasolin looked once at Vlora, then once at Tamas, lying as he was at a disadvantage on the ground. Tamas tried not to let his pain reach his eyes.
Show no weakness.
Demasolin threw his sword to the floor with a snort of disgust.
Tamas heard several sets of footsteps in the hallway outside. Faces appeared at the door. Swords and pistols were drawn. Vlora kept her pistol trained on Demasolin.
Hailona made a calming gesture with both hands. To the people at the door, she said, “Everything is fine here. Prepare to leave. We have to get out of the manor.”
Vlora nudged the body at her feet with one toe. It was a man in an Adran coat, with brown hair and a mustache. He was alive, his eyes wide, looking at Vlora in fear. “This one can answer some questions,” Vlora said.
Demasolin crossed the room and grabbed the front of the man’s coat with both hands, pulling him into a sitting position on the floor. The soldier’s hands had been tied with his own belt.
“Why are his boots missing?” Demasolin said.
Vlora lowered her pistol. “Less willing to run if he doesn’t have boots.”
Tamas slowly climbed to his feet while the attention was away from him. He couldn’t tell which hurt more – his leg or his pride. Too old for this. He tested the leg gently. It seemed to take weight. A momentary bout of weakness? He better not risk it.
He sheathed his sword and limped to the large desk in the middle of the room so he’d have something to lean on. Hailona watching him. Her eyes held something between suspicion and fear.
“Who,” Demasolin demanded of the prisoner, “are you?”
The man’s eyes remained wide as they flitted between the unfriendly faces in the room. He remained silent.
Demasolin shook him by the front of his coat and switched from Deliv to Adran. “Who are you? Speak, now!”
Nothing.
Demasolin slapped the soldier, openhanded. The soldier suddenly struggled, grappling with Demasolin, trying to throw him off, only to stop immediately when Vlora set the barrel of her pistol against his neck.
Vlora leaned over the soldier. In Kez, she said, “Do you understand me?” It was a soft tone, almost seductive, and Tamas wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t in a powder trance still.
The soldier nodded.
“Do you value your life?”
He nodded emphatically.
“Darling, if you want to live through the night, you’ll answer the good man’s questions. If not…” She gently rubbed the end of the pistol barrel against the soldier’s neck.
Again with the tone, almost seductive. It was a side of Vlora Tamas had not seen before.
“I… I am Galhof of Adopest. Adran soldier,” the man said in Adran. His accent was thick, the words broken.
“Try again,” Vlora said in Kez. She hadn’t stopped caressing the soldier’s neck with her pistol. “You’ll either have to get a better Adran accent or develop a sudden immunity to bullets.”
The soldier’s eyes almost seemed to bulge out of his head as he tried to look at the pistol touching his neck without turning his head. He cleared his throat. “My name is Galhof,” he said in Kez, “but… I am a Kez soldier.”
“What are you doing in Alvation?” Demasolin asked. “What are your orders?”
“We’re to take the Mountainwatch above the city.”
“Why the ruse, then? Why the Adran coats?”
“Don’t know, sir,” Galhof said. “I’m just a soldier.”
Tamas
“So that Deliv blames Adro for the attack.”
“But,” Hailona spoke up suddenly, “how did they expect the ruse to hold? There are already suspicions.” She shot a glance at Demasolin. “I’ve been saying for a week I thought you were Kez.”
The soldier looked around the room again as if seeking allies. He said nothing.
Tamas felt a sudden dread in the pit of his stomach. It grew heavier as certainty within him grew. When he spoke, it came out a croak. “They plan on putting Alvation to the torch. Oh, pit. All of it. They’re going to burn it all, kill every man, woman, and child. They’ll leave behind just enough evidence to condemn Adro. By the time anyone has stopped to think about it, Deliv will already be at war with Adro.”
“Not even the Kez would stoop to that,” Demasolin said.
Tamas was certain now. “The man in command of this army is a monster.”
“Who?”
“Duke Nikslaus. The king’s favorite Privileged. He’ll stop at nothing to win this war.”
“I know that name,” Hailona said softly.
Tamas shot her a warning glance. Now was not the time to bring up his history with Nikslaus.
Ruper suddenly appeared in the doorway again. “Ma’am,” he said, “we have to go. The lookout has spotted soldiers coming down the main street. Over a hundred of them. We have to go now.”
“The wounded?” Hailona asked.
“We’ll have to carry them, or leave them for the Adrans.”
“They’re not Adrans,” Hailona said. “They are Kez. Quickly now. Get everyone to the cellar. We’ll take the old passage across the street to Wyn Manor and go to Millertown.”
The butler didn’t even blink at the correction. “Very good, ma’am.” Ruper disappeared again.
Demasolin retrieved his sword from the floor and stopped beside Tamas. “We’re not done, old man,” he said, sliding it into its sheath with a click. “They call you a savior in the Adran papers. I name you a butcher and a traitor to your own crown.”
“I’m all of them,” Tamas said with a shrug.
Demasolin seemed taken aback by that. He strode from the room.